Topics

46

Game Related / New Banners!

« on: December 17, 2014, 03:31:40 AM »

Thanks to the magnificent work of our very own Sadok, we now have a set of fully updated banners in lieu of the latest expansion pack and the new character models! You might find that one old banner has still managed to sneak its way in there, namely the retro-styled Red Blade banner featuring Githya, Kraag and Grugna. As of writing this message, they were unable to show up for their photographic pose in-game, so we hope to include them in a newer banner at a later time yet!

Still, because we're all suckers for old memorabilia, here's a place to immortalize our old banners so new and old members alike may have a taste of what manner of orcs graced the top of our website previously!

Loyalty: Random orc, Kozgugore, Gruulg


Matriarch: Random orc, Akesha, Kargur


Cunning: Random orc, Morgeth, Nergul


Heritage: Kraag, Githya, Grugna

47

The Campfire / When the Night-Hunt Comes

« on: November 12, 2014, 06:47:24 PM »

’To bare our souls is all we ask, to give all we have to life and the beings surrounding us. Here the nature spirits are intense and the veil between worlds is thin. You may not believe in them, but they believe in you, or at least acknowledge your existence, as it once used to be their own. Defy them not, for the Night-Hunt is when those most vicious of motive come to greet you.’
- Galth, Elder Shaman of the Warsong Clan

When the Night-Hunt Comes

Farewells. How he hated them. More so than he hated ogres or snakes. They are more difficult to face than any battlefield that presents certain death. In a battle, an orc may decide the outcome for himself. The fate of it lies in his very own hands.
The fate of a farewell lies in the hands of luck, the spirits’ will, the elements, or even other people entirely. And having to rely on others? That is perhaps the thing this orc hated the very most. As he stood atop the zeppelin tower in the Grom’gol Outpost, his eyes narrowed at the inbound zeppelin; its shape accented by red crimson outlines from the setting sun in the distant ocean. Somewhere on that zeppelin, they were waiting for his final answer. But he knew they never had much doubt about the choice he would eventually make.

“Matron,” he bowed his head in greeting as the zeppelin docked. She was the first to meet him, and she looked at him with that all too familiar look of contempt in her eyes. He knew she disapproved of him leaving his own blood behind like this, even if it is for the good of the Horde. “Gratitude for coming here upon such short notice. Once more, I am in debt.” He spoke the words, but they were laden in malcontent. Being indebted to anyone or having to rely upon their services, be it a goblin slaver or a caring matron, was never a good thing in his eyes. When he saw them step up to the upper deck however, that feeling washed away like blood in the morning tide. They were what mattered – what this fight would be all about. He fell to one knee and welcomed all three of them in his arms. Kraag. Muzg. Katashka.

“Dada! When will we see you again for good? Why can’t you come with us now?” Katashka begged him as she looked up with her big, blue eyes. “Muzg and I made our own spirit snares like you used to show us! We have one for you too, when you go hunt with Shrewdie!” She reached into a satchel slung over her shoulder, taking out an intricately decorated trinket outstretched in her arms. Its earthy-coloured, soft leather patches were interwoven with a brighter red, and carried four bright feathers, several dark beads and two small, wooden totems.

He ran his fingers over the ornate decorations and their artwork. Runes were carved into their surface. They signified ‘Wild’, and ‘Free’. He raised a proud smile back to his two youngest. “You two fear the Night-Hunt will bring evil spirits to my side?” he smirked for a moment, realising the superstition the two may no doubt still cling to in their youth. Still, his face hardened as he thought of the trials that may lie ahead. Beyond that portal, there may be no telling what awaits him or any of his fellow orcs. Evil spirits or not, the sentiment is more than welcome now. “I will keep good hold of this, little Kat. I do not know when we shall see each other again, or what the world will be like when we do. We may both have seen many horrible things by then. But I shall think of all three of you every time I need to be reminded that there is yet beauty and goodness in this world.”

Clutching the spirit snare, he took them all in one, long embrace. It would be another hour before the zeppelin would set course back to Orgrimmar, allowing them some time left to catch up on lost times. They told him of the many things they were being taught with the Matron, and how their ‘wild hunting ways taught by their father’ would do them no good out there, giving them reason to sneak outside the walls whenever she was not looking. It made him forget about all that awaited him, and it did him well to know they would be left in good hands and have made the most of the amount of time he did get to spend with them himself.

Nonetheless, the hour passed as swiftly as water in the stream. When the time had come to give their final words, he knew the two youngest proved easy enough to explain himself to, and to perhaps even give a shred of hope for a future reunion, no matter how false it may well be. The eldest however... He was just about old enough to understand the gravity of the things that may come. And he was just about old enough to start keeping grudges. His tusks were already growing to be bigger than his thumbs, making the orc realize just how little he had seen the young Kraag in the past several moons. Regardless, the hair on his head was only enough to form a small warrior’s knot, and the sinewy muscles upon his dark, green hide were only just starting to take some shape, as his father laid a big hand upon his shoulder. Looking back up him, the young orc still had a very distinctively youthful gaze in his brown eyes, betraying the childhood that was taken from him all too quickly due to his own father’s shortcomings.

“Does it hurt?” the young orc suddenly asked, his inquisitive eyes piercing up into his father’s. “To die? What’s it like?”

He looked down upon Kraag, his hand reaching out to clasp around the shoulder as he knelt down to meet the child upon equal height. “Yes,” he grunted. “It does hurt. But it hurts a lot more to live. And compared to that pain, it passes in but a matter of seconds, before you go to meet your ancestors. So do not worry for me, if I do go to pass on. With any luck, I may go to meet your mother again soon.”

The young orc’s gaze hardened, or did its very best to do so. One could easily tell the tears were being fought back, in order to stand strong in front of his own father. “I -will- come after you if you don’t come back from the portal. We can’t go on without you as well, da. I don’t want you to die.”

“My Little Brother,” the orc grunted as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against his son’s. “Do not treat me as if I am already dead, or dying. If you see me that way, then I would rather truly be dead. You steal the now of my life away, when you fear that tomorrow will bring only death. Your fears clutch cold at me and snatch all pleasure of day's warmth from me.” He rose up to his feet, resting his hand atop Kraag’s head as he looked down upon his son. “This may be farewell. But when I tell you farewell, I do not say it is so forever. Only that I am going home now... And so are you.”

Looking back up to his father, Kraag knew exactly the meaning of his father’s words, no matter how simple they may sound to the ear. He simply threw himself against his father’s chest, taking him in one warm, final embrace, before they knew the time had come to part ways. Reluctantly, he stepped back and on to the creaking deck of the zeppelin behind him. “Farewell. I love you.”

“And I you, Little Brother. Iron in your Blood. Always,” the orc spoke back to Kraag as the goblins aboard the flying ship loosened the ropes from the zeppelin tower. Their brown gazes remained firmly set upon one another as the zeppelin slowly set its gears into motion, and began to drift away from the platform. His own fangs were firmly gritting upon one another, taking whatever was necessary not to show his own weakness. As the zeppelin floated away into the night, leaving but a few lit lanterns to betray its presence, he firmly clutched the spirit snare he was given.

"I do not suppose I shall find you there, on the other side of that thing," he grunted out into the night. Until he turned his head to his left, where a female stood, clad in a long robe and a small wolf mask atop her head.

"I do'nae kno'. Bu' I cannae go wit' y' throug' t'ere. Bu’ I trus’ y’ knew tha’."

He nodded, his hand still gripping around the leathery patterns of the gift given to him. "Then... now is the time to let go. And then this is goodbye. The goodbye that never was."

"Only ‘til wha’ comes after t’is life,” the female smiled back to the orc in an sympathetic, almost wishful manner.

He briefly closed his eyes, refusing to give in to everything that was pent up, bottled up, deep within. His fingers stroked along the length of the feathers and wooden icons of the spirit snare, taking comfort in their touch and the smell of their creators they still had upon them. He raised it to his nostrils, inhaling its well-defined scent, as he began to firmly bind it across the length of his left wrist.

Opening his eyes, he reached out to grab her hand one last time. As his fingers closed around her own however, there was nothing to grasp. She drifted away in the winds like autumn leaves, and all he grasped was thin air.

It was thin air all along.

48

The Campfire / The Nature of Things

« on: September 12, 2014, 02:00:38 AM »

’By the time you realize that just perhaps your father was right, you will probably have a son who thinks you are wrong.’
- Roktakhor, Warsong scout

The Nature of Things

"Hail the warriors brave and true!”

The young voice pierced the air. It sung in a joyous and yet industrious tone as, in between the words, the blade of an axe met with a tall tree’s solid bark.

“Honour the kin that fought for you!”

Another chop. The rhythm of the song synced up perfectly with the continued chopping against the bark of the groaning tree.

“Heed the beckons and heed the call!”

The chopping continued. In the distance, approaching footsteps could be heard, as if joining the song like a warlike drum.

“We'll meet once more in the Wolfking’s Hall!”

With a final chop, the moaning tree at last gave in and soon came tumbling down to the ground, leafs fluttering through the sky like snow on a peaceful winter day.

“You swing that axe like a Hellscream in dire straits,” a heavier voice came from the direction of the footsteps, laden with contentment. “A pity the trees do not fight back. Or you would have been the next Warchief in line to be certain.” A smile curled upon the lips of the tall orc who now stood in front of the young orc boy, whose axe was firmly clenched in his sweaty hands. The boy lifted his eyes to meet with the fatherly gaze, youthful defiance meeting face to face with elderly experience.

“This tree can’t be any softer than a man’s skull. Tree or not, I can chop them off if I have to,” the boy replied. His small, not yet full-grown tusks formed a playful smile in the corners of his mouth as he raised the axe up high, feigning a certainly heroic-looking swing from left to right.

“It is no easy task to sever a man's head,” the bigger orc had barely finished his sentence or he reached out to swiftly grab the hilt of the axe mid-swing, disarming the boy in a fluid motion. In little more than a second, the sharp blade reversed course, and instead  turned towards the boy’s neck. Thankfully enough, it stayed its course safely away from its target, as instead, the tall orc grunted back, amusedly. “You must find the right angle. Let alone a dwarf’s.”

The boy shot a condemning glare back to his peer, which only made the orc grow even more amused, flashing his fangs in a cheerful grin. He lowered the axe, and instead placed his hand firmly upon the boy’s shoulder as he turned and led him away from the felled tree.

“Do not worry for it, Kraag. You have plenty more years to perfect your tree- or head-felling technique,” the orc nodded down to the boy as he rested the sturdy axe upon his own shoulder. "You have already come a long way for one your age. It lifts spirit to know you already stand strong and wise enough to look after your brother and sister when time demands it.”

This statement appeared to alarm the boy Kraag, as he looked up with wide, open eyes to the senior orc. “Why do you say that? Are you planning to leave us again? Why can’t you look after us for once, dad?”

The orc could feel his son’s judgemental gaze staring back at him. He came to a halt as he grunted in amusement, squatting down to meet with the height of Kraag’s own eyes. “By Hellfire I am. Calm rattled nerve, pup. I intend to stay for as long as I can. I always do. I have stood by your side for the past months, have I not? Imagine you had to subdue those elementals of the fire by yourself. You would be stealing all manner of fun away from me. We cannot stand for that, can we?” the orc smiled slyly back at Kraag.

“Just don’t leave,” Kraag replied, looking down to avoid his father’s gaze in a surly manner. “Not until you really have to. I don’t want to look after Kat and Muzg by myself. They only listen to a grown-up.”

Kraag’s father grunted in a mirthful tone once again. “Those two but bear a defiant nature within. They are true beasts, born of the heart. In the end, they will listen to their bigger brother. In some clans, the age of six is old enough to be considered adult. Old enough to be led into battle.”

“And in some clans, they dance around the statue of a giant penis every year!” Kraag replied back sullenly as he raised his gaze back up. “Doesn’t mean it’s a great idea!”

“Ha!” the elder orc burst out in a loud chuckle. “You talk just like your mother. Same big mouth on you. And too damned sharp-witted for your own good.” He raised himself back up to his feet as he twisted the axe and held its hilt out to Kraag once more. “Here. Take care of the wood and take the rest of the day off. I will tend to the remaining tasks. After all, I have as much reason to leave the three of you as the wolf has reason to chase ghosts.”

With a final pat on the back, the orc sent Kraag off to tend to the wood. A smile still lingered upon his lips as he gazed after the boy running off into the distance. Soon enough, he turned to continue on his own way.

There was another, familiar face waiting for him there, however.

“Now you show your face again. Afraid the children might look too happy to see you?”

The remark conjured an artful smirk upon the features of the airily robed she-orc who stood in front of him. “Y’ know i’ doesnae work tha’ way, Kozgu. Y’ are th’only one w’ose heart I belong in.”

“And the only one foolish enough to believe it,” Kozgugore remarked petulantly. “But I trust there is a reason you have come to liven me up with your presence once again. Not a moon goes by without you showing and disappearing of late.”

“Tha’ depends,” the female replied as she reached a hand out to the taller orc. Her hand lingered over patches of flesh and leather, and yet, her touch felt ever so far away. As if he still couldn’t reach out for it. He remained motionless as she slowly walked around him, curiously so. “Why are y’ still ‘ere, Kozgu? Y’ cannae lie t’ ‘em forever. Th’world doesnae stan’ still w’ile y’ ‘ide ‘ere.”

His gaze cautiously followed her as she motioned herself around, like a preying vulture circling a way-worn kodo upon the sands. “I have to take responsibility for my family. For what little family I have left,” he grunted quietly, turning his gaze for just a moment to look out to the toiling orc child in the distance. “I once said to you that a child absent parents is a child absent future. In the face of this, the irony is sharp as whetted steel. They have been left to fend for themselves too many times. So I pass on to him however much I can, before fate sees fit to remove me of this earth.”

“Tha’s a goo’ cause… ‘onourable,” the female smiled fondly back to the orc. “Bu’ y’ time will be shor’. Y’cannae stay gone fo’ever. Y’ ‘ave ot’er duties. T’ey will need y’ soon.”

“Why?” Kozgugore scoffed back to the female. “You hold power to pierce future's veil now? Who – or what – would possibly offer enough reason for me to abandon my children? -You-?”

“Nae. Nae’ yet,” she softly replied as she halted her steps, and came face to face with him once more. “Bu’ somet’ing will. Y’ shoul’ return. Y’pack needs y’.”

He was still mulling over the meaning of her words when suddenly, she grabbed him by the shoulders. As if out of a wicked display of affection, she lifted her head back, only to fiercely knock her forehead against his own. The blow blinded him for a moment as he recoiled, growling in pain. He lifted a hand to his forehead as he staggered and sought to regain both control and sight, but before either could return to him in full, he could already tell.

She was gone, once again.

49

The Campfire / Telling Ghosts

« on: June 01, 2014, 04:12:27 PM »

’Never trusted them shaman. Who willingly talks to dead things? Takes a damned nutter to settle with that for the rest of your life. No wonder they gradually grow more insane by the years.’
- Ar’gok of the Warsong Clan

Telling Ghosts

Dancing shadows on the ground. That’s what they looked like. A wolf, a male and a female orc: Their figurines resting in front of the crackling fire and casting a distinct shadow in front of the hulking orc who sat in front of them, silently staring at their dancing shapes in the dark night. It was cold for a Barrens night, but that was far from his mind right now. Even the far away noises from a settlement that was still ripe with life of orc activity eluded his attention, just as he had not paid any heed or visit to it for the past several days. The solitude comforted him in a way, knowing no one still bothered to come after him looking for wise words, counsel or any kind of orders. None of those were his concerns to care for, or they would have surely let him know, he thought to himself.

But none of those thoughts occupied his mind now. He looked at the dancing shadows on the dry and dusty red earth, thoughts of long forgotten rituals and fellowship in better times. And the many emotions that filled his veins at the time. He tried to remember how they felt, but instead, a sudden wave of anger ran through his blood. His hand reached out, knocking over the two orc-figures into the fire. Dark, red eyes narrowed at the wooden shapes as they quickly caught fire in the smoldering embers in front of him.

“Tha’ be a shame. I kin’ o’ liked t’ose.”

His gaze reached up, into the dark nothingness beside him. And there it was, that old, familiar face. His eyes narrowed in disbelief, and his throat produced no sound despite his lips parting from one another, unable to find words to express that very disbelief.

“Wha’? Do y’nae believe I’m ‘ere?” she said, as her hand reached out to take his own. She placed it upon her cheek, soft yet carrying a few distinct and all too known scars. “Feel f’ y’self. Did y’ miss m’?”

His thumb lightly caressed the skin, traveling over her sharp tusk and those distinctly figured lips, dark of colour. He was still staring in disbelief as his tongue finally found the words he sought, his throat still hoarse from days spent in silence. “You are not here. This is a dream, and the bigger fool I am for falling prey to it so easily.”

“If ‘t be a dream, ‘t be a good one, nae? One y’ shoul’ prolong f’ as long as y’ can,” the female replied, her own hand reaching out to the weathered orc’s face in turn. Her lips curled in a little smile. “Funny. Y’ look like some ol’ bear. Y’ do’nae shave as much as y’ used t’.”

“I have little reason to,” the orc quietly replied. “There is little left of the orc you remember. It died when the rest of his life was taken from him.” His fingers still idly lingered over her cheek, and that strong jaw. But as they trailed downward, they slowly began to curl around her throat. Suddenly, they squeezed tight, and rows of his teeth were bared upon her. “… When you left me. Abandoned me like a stray dog. I howled and howled, orc. Searched the mountains, forests and deserts. I went through hell, and still you eluded me. You -wanted- to elude me. WHY?”

The female’s features twisted in pain for a moment, before that all-too familiar mirthless smile crept around those tusks of hers again, looking back at him in that usual defiance. “I be back now, m’wolf. Tha’… tha’ be all tha’ matters.” The words were formed in obvious strain, yet they were still expressed with a certain happiness about them as her bright, blue eyes stared back at him in longing reunion. “Y’ always knew I ain’t normal. Tha’ be why y’ loved m’ like y’ did.”

“THIS is not love!” the orc cried back at her with an emotional tang to his raised voice, shoving her off of him and on to the ground. His gaze locked down upon the sight of her. “We shared one heart together. And now you left my chest half filled. You did not keep your promise. Your -oath-.”

The female raised herself up on her elbow as she ran a hand across her throat. She still bore that same smile upon her lips as she returned the look. ”Aye. I did’nae,” the female confessed as her eyes seemed to take on just a hint of guilt. But only briefly. “Y’ were always so good a’ keeping t’ose, oaths. Bu’ look where tha’ go’ y’ now. ‘‘igh Blade’? Really? Fancy title f’ a lapdog. Y’ obey th’ orc y’ once sough’ t’ treat like a pup y’self now?” At last, her smile made way, though only to reveal her own set of teeth in an amused grin. “T’ere be indeed little left o’ tha’ orc, if this be wha’ has become o’ y’.”

“A position I would not be in, were you still there to aid me when I needed it most!” the orc barked back at the female. “The orc that stands before you now is but given breath by necessity. Because oaths matter to me, even those made to orcs who have left a void where heart once beat. And I will gladly take what position I might, so long as it gives me purpose in that oath! It is convenient for you to suddenly show here and point out -my- errors when -you- forsake your very own blood!” the orc’s eyes flared up as he got to his feet. Dust wafted up into the sky as he stepped towards the female still lying there on the ground, looking back up to him. “Where were you?! Where were you when night fell and memories were cast to damned shadow?! Where were you when none other stood for my side?! Where-!”

He stopped. A sound startled him from the darkness behind him. As he quickly turned around and drew his knife, he came face to face with an orc bearing the colours of his own tribe. He let out a low sigh as he lowered the blade, nodding at him.

“Everything in order, High Blade? I thought I heard your voice.”

“Fine, orc. I was but having company-“ he turned back to gesture at the female behind him, but the spot where she had been pushed down upon stood empty. All but some wafting dust and earth lingered behind him, and as he turned back to his tribesman, he grunted. “… in my dream. You startled me, that is all.”

The orc nodded, though clearly not too convinced of the High Blade’s words by the look on his face. “You’re sought for back at camp. We’re preparing to head out soon.” The orc pondered for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully before he continued. “Dreams have a way to… hit us where it hurts most, sometimes. Good night, High Blade”

“Tell the Chieftain I shall arrive in the morrow,” the orc nodded back before he turned to the fire again. His gaze drifted to the empty spot once more, and as the messenger turned on his heel to leave, the High Blade grunted to himself. “… Not only dreams do so. But a world of shit entirely.”

50

Game Related / The UI-thread

« on: January 20, 2014, 11:41:00 PM »

Because some would apparently prefer to use the default UI as opposed to a proper orc-like look! Barring the fact that I actually need to clean it up and update some of its addons at some point.

Anyway, yeah, show them off if you got anything of note.

51

The Campfire / Awakening, Resurrection, Salvation

« on: December 28, 2013, 05:14:56 AM »

‘Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.’
- Thorg Bloodseeker to his son.

1. Awakening

"Wake up.”

It’s not unusual to awaken after a good and worthwhile dream. The best ones are when you are not aware that you are dreaming at all. When your subconscious is swept away by the current of time and is taken back to a plane of trusted and familiar things. The sights, sounds and smells of those things once forgotten, again returned. They never last long enough, however.

“I said wake up, chieftain!”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

His voice was hoarse, courtesy of what could have been a lifetime of sleep. Eyes slowly opened, only to be met with the gaze of the young male orc standing above him.

“And I also recall instructing you to not awaken me in the middle of a joining.”

He slowly rose up, reaching for the backpack beside him to grasp at the canteen he left there.

“It’s been two days! At this rate, you’ll be lost to the Wilds.”

“I do not get lost so easily. And even if I did, you should not be so worried for it, young Torak.”

“Easier still to lose you when you care so little for your own life, ch-… master Feraleye. You grow thinner by the day if you keep this up.”

“And what of it?” he grunted in return, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have enemies left to battle? Those who have not beaten me to the planes of the afterlife have already forgotten about me. I will prepare for battle when it be due, as I shall prepare for a joining when it, too, be due.”

“A wise orc once told me we live in a world of enemies. Perhaps it’s time he took his own advice to heart.”

A light push shoved the young orc aside as he known as Feraleye rose to his feet. He lifted a hand to his neck as he cracked it left to right with a pained grunt. “Has the pup become matron to the wolf now? Spare me your sermons and explain reason as to why you have awoken me already.”

“Ah yes,” the young Torak responded. “Dwarves are nearby, and they don’t seem drunk enough to look past us without notice this time. I think it’s best we move on.”

“You awaken me for the sake of those inbred mongrels? We heard them long before you even spotted them.” Feraleye spoke dismissively as his gaze turned to Torak, who looked back disapprovingly at the latter statement. Feraleye gave a low sigh in response to it, caving in to the young orc’s concerns. “Very well. Let us split darkness with our movements.”

It did not take long for them to pack their equipment and be on the move. They had been used to such evasive manoeuvres for quite some time now. It had been a few months since he known as Feraleye ventured across the Great Sea to the old lands. It was there that he was fated to meet an old member of his tribe, Torak, who insisted on travelling with the orc on his ventures. He had never even asked the older orc for the purpose of his travels – simply that he would relish the thought of accompanying his former chieftain and to get to know him as the orc he actually was. Feraleye would not have thought the orc to be as persistent as he was, considering how he likely made a poor impression towards the young orc after revealing more of the orc that laid behind the mask. A mask that so long hid any emotions during his reign as chieftain. Still it sat upon his brow, that same, emotionless ragged fur of a wolf long passed, but it no longer hid the troubled and discontent frown it was so known to carry. It had instead made room for a narrowed gaze of suspicion and scorn towards his surroundings. His mood quite possibly did improve, but there were still too many scars, too many memories, to properly erase that permanent scowl for good. Wounds heal well enough when salve is applied to them. The subconscious wounds, however, those take a while longer to properly mend. And even when they do, they never truly vanish. He had attempted to suppress the memory of them by not being himself. By seeking out the Wilds instead, and leaving his vessel of flesh and blood behind, only to be continuously ripped back to it by his worried companion.

“Should you not perhaps consider returning to an orcish settlement? One of the Horde at the very least, considering for how long you’ve secluded yourself from it?”

The inquiry did not seem to stir the older orc one bit. He simply kept walking on with his gaze looking onward.

“I know you have little regard for anything close to civilization these days, master Feraleye, but don’t you think it would be wise for your own sanity to at least speak to actual orcs again? Without me to accompany you out here, I suspect you would have been little more but a beast out here.”

At last, Torak’s unending comments earned him a response at least in the form of the snort, soon to be followed by that all-too familiar scowling gaze from who he referred to as a ‘master’. “’Civilization’ be the tree I piss against when no bush be nearby. Better to leave the scraping, lying, conniving and warmongering to those better suited to it. No. I have little to seek there at present time. Nor be there any who would look warmly to my return. To walk within the confines of a wall be foreign of thought.”

The no doubt unsurprising response was met with a sigh. “I suppose I can’t convince you otherwise. I’m sure there are still orcs who remember your face, however. Or what little you showed of it anyway. Don’t forsake the thought yet.”

“Your offer be well received. Even in the turning of it,” Feraleye responded, even though not entirely without a fair share of scepticism to his voice.

The two figures in the night walked on for what seemed a good few hours, with the light of dawn breaking in the distance as they passed several landmarks that the old hunter still remembered from days gone. A lifetime of scouting made it difficult to forsake such old habits. The last they stumbled upon indicated their proximity to a pass leading to lower lands, and eventually out of dwarven territory. Even if he were to take Torak up on his offer, he reminisced, the closest settlement would be that of Dragonmaws; certainly no kind favourable to his liking. Too bold, deceitful and disloyal to any but their own. Still, they would be the most likely means to find a way across the canyon aside from the well-travelled Thandol Span, but he always managed to find a way somehow. That name alone raised many old memories, and for a moment, he wasn’t aware of the voice that spoke from afar to warn him of impending danger.

“At any rate, the next time we do find ourselves close to a settlement, I would like your leave to deposit a letter at the nearest courier. It’s been some time since I last sent any word to my sister. She must be starting to think I’ve found some enthralling beauty of a she-orc, to keep me from sending any word for so long. I daresay she-“

A wide smile had curled itself around Torak’s tusks, but as a thundering gunshot from afar broke his sentence, so too did it break his expression.

If old memories had a way to drag one back to the present, it is in the form of warm, oozing blood from orcish skin.

52

The Campfire / True Wolves Are Always Free

« on: May 30, 2013, 01:37:34 AM »

‘Little brother, do not treat me as if I am already dead, or dying. If you see me that way, then I would rather truly be dead. When you constantly fear that tomorrow will bring my death, you steal the now of my life away. Your fears clutch cold at me and snatch all my pleasure in the day's warmth from me.’
- Gruk's final words to Kozgugore, twenty years ago.

True Wolves Are Always Free

His gaze wandered down. As the orcs and their cries ebbed away behind him, the forest swallowed him into darkness. In his hand, he clutched a necklace made of bone. In one bone he had carved the amount of foes he had killed in the Battle of the Path of Glory. In another, the nicknames he had given to famed foes alike. Lighthammer, the Sober Dwarf, the Lionmaned, even the Busty One. Many names he saw in them, and many more coursed through his mind. Of fallen enemies, allies, brothers and kin. And of their faces, painted on the canvas of his retina. They had coloured him as he had coloured them in blood. All those deaths coloured him from a red gaze of a murderous orc to the brown eyes he carried now, holding him in restraint and moderation. Perhaps it had been too much of both. They had voted him away, and though he knew he should have been relieved, he was not. Something gnawed at him, eating its way from the inside like maggots through a corpse. He was back to the way he had started those many years ago, before he had joined the tribe to aid the Matriarch, Akesha Redblade. It was she who gave him purpose and direction after he had been a wandering ghost in the plains and deserts and forests. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Still he is once again but a lone wanderer in the wilderness, and still he has once again lost all of his family. His mate long gone, and his children he cannot reach.

A hand brushed over the worg’s mane that walked by his side. The beast could feel the old orc’s sorrow, as it pushed its warm nose into the palm of the hand offered to him. Perhaps one day he will be able to follow someone again as dutifully he did Akesha. But now the wounds are still too fresh. He did not fit in any longer, and perhaps the orcs had felt it. He was no longer the warrior he was once made out to be, letting reason and compassion guide his way to a better future instead. But now, the road he had carved with violence and anger had crippled underneath the weight of exactly that.

He lifted his gaze, and his mind reached out. Still the wildlife flourished, even with this misery and conflict that has played a central role in this life. Still the bears were catching fish in the flowing waters, and still the stags ran freely in the meadows. Despite his pained grimace, his nostrils expanded, breathing in the free air of the lush forest. Then, the worg beside him could sense the momentum inside the orc, and dashed forward. And the orc followed suit. He ran again, amongst the trees, through the thickets and alongside the wildlife. A free orc. His aging lungs expanded with every breath and his legs strained underneath the sudden sprint, but within was still the young, brown orc pup that ran with nothing but sheer ambition on the open plains of a once green planet. There was a growl in the back of his throat that he couldn’t suppress, one of anger and determination. Damned be that she-orc for leaving him like this, and damned be them for seeing their leader in him no longer. It was time to stop sniffing the carcass of his old life. A new hunger was stirred, and a hungry wolf is bound to wage a hard battle. Wolves have no chieftains, and one can just as well try to forbid this orc to run than to forbid the wind to stop blowing or the grass to stop growing. His spirit longed to be free again, to fight and to kill. And most of all, to take what was taken from him.

Nothing but the wind that carried his wild scent remained. And with it, a parchment that was carried back to where he came from. It had little more but some lines written on to it in old runes, describing a song much like the ones sung in the old days, when a clan would march to battle and sing with the rhythm of their feet.

Come rise up all of you wolves,
And raise up a cup to the New Horde,
They came and broke the Warchief's will,
And hunted Kor'kron in the valley and hill,
Here's to the rebels and the breaking of chain,
Here's to the false Chief and all he has slain,
Orgrimmar trembles, we stand at its wall,
The new Horde will rise,
And the Warchief will fall.

Our oaths resound, our blood shall flow,
In red skies our banners glow,
With glorious steel, with glorious heart,
We march to tear the Horde apart,
Here’s to Hellscream and his fallen head,
Here’s to the fire, the smoke and the dead,
Ogrimmar trembles, we stand at its wall,
The new Horde will rise,
And the Warchief will fall.
Here's to our rise and the death of Kor’kron,
Here's to us beasts and whatever may come,
Orgrimmar trembles, we stand at its walls,
The New Horde will rise,
And the Warchief will fall.

53

The Campfire / Bad Omens

« on: April 21, 2013, 03:19:43 AM »

‘We both understand we have no place here. We both understand that we are lost in the spirits’ eyes. We both understand we must find our purpose, or otherwise go mad in this green, spiritless place.’
- Muzg Felsaw

Bad Omens

‘In blood n' love shared, this wolf never walks alone.’

The sentence ringed through his mind, a vow once given to him in a pact of blood. So long ago, yet its voice was still as clear and pure as it had sounded the day Kozgugore Feraleye first heard it. He found himself on that same cliff in Nagrand, overlooking the vast, rolling hills of the Land of Winds that stretched out in front of him. It was a land of many joyous memories, yet something was off about it tonight. A reflection of the moon in the corner of his eye caught his attention. A knife, its tip decorated with dried and caked blood, lying in the grass. He leaned down to pick it up, inspecting its blade and simple handle. His old hunting knife.

As he gazed into the reflection of the blade, he could see his eyes in between the drops of dried blood. Dark, red eyes, just like they were on that day those years ago that they stood here, exchanging blood and vows. He could see an old, long gash along his face, and many other small marks that time had left upon the orc’s face. And he could see it over his shoulder, behind him. Someone approaching him. He turned around and watched as the dark figure walked closer to him, its body and silhouettes figured like that of a bared female, but all of its features indistinctive and black, like a shadow seen through a dusty curtain. It reached out to him, its limbs curling around him in what could have been an embrace, but then became a lecherous grasp, fingers and nails tearing at his back and his features. He could almost see a hint of a malicious grin in the shadow’s features, but then just as he cried out to the pain upon his skin, it started screaming along with him. He could feel his flesh being torn apart, warm blood oozing down along his neck and his back. Just as the pain started to seem unforgiving and fatal, the shadow enveloped him and swallowed him whole, leaving nothing but darkness, and the whisper of a spirit far away, a brusque voice uttering something from a time long passed.

‘Desperate orcs do dangerous things. Be patient, because vengeance is too.’

Kozgugore jerked awake, surprised he had slept at all. The bed he found himself in was too small, tailored to human sizes, and the room dark and damp, with but a small window offering a glimpse of the sea with a fresh sunrise. He sat himself upright, placing his feet on the floor as he dragged a hand over his sweaty features. He might have fooled himself that the dream was the fault of his own drinking the evening before that, but this was not much of an exception from any of his other nights that involved any less drinking – or none at all for that matter. It was a certain state of mind that plagued him with these constant dreams and nightmares. Or even spirits that sought it fit to pester him with vague messages and prophecies. If anything, the drinking made it easier for him to go to sleep without any such predetermined fear of what the next dream would bring. He rose up, stretching his bare limbs and rolling his shoulders atop a back carved with runes made in a vow of blood as his bones cracked in protest. He made his way to a bowl of water, sinking his head into it for a few seconds before he rose back out from it with a cleared-up mind and conscience. As he lazily walked to the small window, water flowing down his bared body of scarred tissue like a mountain of waterfalls, he gazed outside. Exotic birds flew from over the town of Booty Bay into the jungle canopy. Sailors, merchants, dockworkers, pirates and buccaneers alike worked along the outstretched docks of the port town run by greedy misfits and cutthroats. Clearly he was far away from whatever dream that brought him elsewhere.

By the time he finally found himself down on those  same docks, the sun had already risen to the top of a clear, blue sky. His eyes scanned the many piers as he attempted to seek a half-trustworthy captain, which seemed to him much like looking for a Frostwolf in a snowstorm in a place like this, to secure the tribe’s voyage back to Kalimdor. His eyes fell on a particularly weathered goblin who looked distinguished enough to be a captain as well as knowledgeable enough to know his way around Kalimdor’s shores.

‘You plan to sail to Kalimdor?’ Feraleye asked as he approached the small creature.
‘I might be, big guy,’ the goblin answered in a most disinterested manner. ‘Whadda ya want?’
‘Secure passage,’ the orc grunted as he took out a small sack that sang with coin inside as he waved it in front of the goblin captain. ‘For a troop of orcs with no questions asked.’
‘No questions asked, huh?’ the captain replied as his greedy, little fingers snatched at the sack of coin. The chieftain lifted it high enough to be out of reach as he subtly shook his head. ‘Heh. I can do that. If the price is good enough.’ The goblin gave the orc a good and inquisitive stare, judging the orc’s value for such a trip. He then slowly raised a finger towards him, as if to measure him down. ‘You’re a wanted orc,’ the goblin eventually concluded.
‘You be likely a wanted pirate,’ the orc grunted in return. ‘That may just as well make us kin. Were I five heads shorter and a lot greedier.’
‘Ha!’ the goblin let out an amused chuckle as he folded his arms conclusively. ‘I bet I could get an even better price bringing your head to Hellscream! You’ll have to up the stakes, pal. Say twenty gold an orc.’
‘Then you overestimate whatever bounty might be on our heads.’
‘Could be, could be,’ the goblin pouted back to Feraleye. ‘But all this smuggling, it’s a risky business. I gotta get worth my trouble if I’m going to ship a bunch of lunatic orcs across the Great Sea.’
‘I will keep your  generous offer in mind when the very last rowboat be departed from these shores,’ the orc grumbled disapprovingly as he turned around to be on his way. The goblin squawked on a little about a ‘bargain’ and some ‘crazy deal’, but the orc would have none of it. He continued a few paces down the docks when a presence caught his eye in a small alley beside him, a cloaked figure that, judging from the glint of two beady eyes from underneath the hood, had its attention caught by him in return. A hushed voice, making it unclear what race or gender the hood may be hiding, reached out to him.
‘I might have that secure passage you may be looking for, king of wolves. For a simpler price. An exchange.’
Feraleye’s attention piqued, he turned towards the mysterious presence as he gave it a subtle nod.
‘I be listening.’

54

The Campfire / Introducing: The Tuition to Orcish Gentlemanry

« on: April 01, 2013, 05:40:16 PM »

'Being a male is a matter of birth. Being an orc is a matter of age. But being a gentleman is a matter of choice.'
- Kraag the Wolfking

Introducing: The Tuition to Orcish Gentlemanry

Civilized orcs, young and old alike, of the Horde: A dying breed. Between the oppression of Garrosh Hellscream's rule and the increasing animosity within the Horde's very own ranks, it becomes increasingly difficult to find civilization in this world of barbarians, brutes, simpletons and ingrates. We, the Splendiferous Gentlemen Society of the Orc, strive to combat this growing problem.

In the Red Blade tribe, we do not just care about honour: We care about honour in style. It is just as easy for the next simpleton to defeat an enemy worthy of his stature, but it is only a true orcish gentleman who truly knows how to approach and subject his enemy with noble fashion and style. It is exactly that which we offer you, aspiring gentlemen all around Azeroth: A course in living the refined life, in true gentleman-like fashion. After all, anyone can be heroic from time to time. But a gentleman is something you have to be all the time.

'The object of warfare is not just to win. It is to fight like a gentleman, and win.'
- Kozgugore Feraleye

Why such a tuition is vital, you ask? Most orcs of our era are taught that being a true orc is to not care about your appearance or what you look like - which is preposterous! Henceforth, the Red Blade's young orcs shall grow up going with their fathers to their tailors and barbers, and they will learn from a very young age that being a true orc is in fact caring about how you look. Not from a shallow point of view, but because it matters. Moreover, courses shall be given on how to treat our females in a true ladylike manner, as befitting of any orcish dame. After all, a gentleman is not just the epitome of civilized orcish culture: He is a poet, a dreamer, a dapper fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure.

'All I want is a gentleman. I'm sick to bloody death of all these uneducated peons and bastards.'
- Akesha Redblade

Do you desire a chance to stand among the best and finely educated? Your chance presents itself! Whether an orc of the tribe or otherwise, we offer you the chance to join the revolution of the Splendiferous Gentlemen Society of the Orc, and be taught to be polite, intelligent, witty, talented, modest, well dressed, well groomed, and culturally aware. It is all this, and more, that we strive to educate our orcs. Tuition fees are negotiable depending on varying terms and, in the event you may be a tramp, we may offer alternative payments in the form of manual labour (not excluding peonhood).

Do not squander the opportunity and sign up now! The Splendiferous Gentlemen Society of the Orc presents the Splendiferous Gentlemen Society of the Orc's tutorship, a guide through life for those things that deliver excellence and bliss. A bliss, whether that is in great bloodshed, in a Durotar razorwind, in comfy slippers, in silk robes, or a great cigar. It is everywhere and it is here at the Tuition to Orcish Gentlemanry!

55

Event Planning / Kosh'harg Festival (17/3)

« on: March 11, 2013, 01:33:18 AM »

Kosh'harg Festival

An invitation to any and all orcs and allies of the orcs,

The Kosh'harg is a bi-annual festival celebrated by all orcs who value the tradition of the homelands. At the turning points of the year, when the sun and the Pale Lady in the skies shine the brightest, the orcs gather at the Oshu'gun mountain to reconcile and celebrate. Stories are told, goods are exchanged, games are held and alliances are forged. In the time of the clans, it was a time that even the greatest rivals would lower the axes of war and come together for celebration. The clans are now gone, but the orcs have found new allies in trolls, tauren, goblins, Forsaken and elves alike. Any of these who may deem themselves friends and allies of the orcs of tradition, too, are hereby invited to join in the festivities in Nagrand, the Land of Winds!

Join us at Garadar at the seventeenth day of the third month! From there on out, we shall make to the sacred mountain, where the festivities shall commence at the sounding of the ninth drum. Any hostilities are to be buried, as any sign of conflict shall be answered with removal immediately. Those inciting unrest and troublemakers in the face of orcish tradition need not appear, for this is the time of honourable orcish celebration!

For the true Horde and its traditions!
- Unsigned

OOC:
So here it is again, the reoccurring Kosh'harg Festival organised by Orcs of the Red Blade! Any orc or anyone who deems themselves IC allies or friends of the orcish race are free to show up to join in the festivities! Feel free to bring any stories, goods, events, games or speeches alike that you may want to share on the spot! It's an open festival for all to partake in, after all. We'll be gathering on Sunday 17 March at 20:30 at Garadar, and depart to the Oshu'gun festival site at 21:00! Do feel free to drop by for your share of Hordie RP!

56

The Campfire / Feraleye's Fall

« on: December 18, 2012, 03:55:34 AM »

'Before you kill, think of what you take, little brother. Remember what it is to be alive.'
- Orboz Broadjaw

Feraleye's Fall

Kozgugore Feraleye,

Your presence has been requested in Orgrimmar. Report in at General Spinecleaver in the Hall of the Brave to review your recent service to the Horde and to receive your new orders with due haste. You are to be expected as soon as hostilities in the Jade Forest have ceased and your work is considered done.

For the Horde,
General Jorak Spinecleaver

The letter was delivered to Kozgugore during his time as a part of the Horde forces in the Jade Fist campaign, carried by an elf messenger on his way to Domination Point in Krasarang Wilds. The Chieftain received letters like these often enough, but there was something about the tone of the contents of this one, and in the look in the messenger’s eyes, that revealed well in advance that this wouldn’t be any ordinary meeting. No doubt it may have something to do with his share of leadership during the campaign, among which the treaty he made with the Alliance and the Shado-pan. It no doubt went against the wishes of some of the generals back in Orgrimmar, or even the Warchief himself. Whatever it may be, there was no turning back now. He had arrived, and just as it had been when he last left its walls behind, its streets were bustling with activity, ever-preparing for the war that was being waged from afar.

Craftsmen were hard at work with the many tools of war, and though just as many of them were working on the more common products as well, like leather for bags and furs for cloaks, he knew that even these were to be prepared for the war effort, instead of being used in someone else’s daily life. War had taken a firm grip upon most of Orgrimmar, it would seem, and it was clearly not inclined in the slightest to let go. As he made his way to the Valley of Honour, he could see the Blackrock warriors and warlocks alike walk through the Drag, going unopposed as they chased away a few resting citizen from their resting place. There’s hardly such a thing as ‘rest’ in these times – not until the Alliance and all its allies would be defeated. As he entered the Valley, the very air was thick with orc sweat, grunts and Kor’kron alike exercising around on the open grounds around the Hold. Taskmasters barked at them, preparing them to fight the Alliance by cutting into Durotar’s humid air. Kozgugore noted some of them could barely  be considered as adults, let alone teens, as they were being drilled on the spot. Truly everyone was being put to use in order to serve the Warchief’s war efforts. He had not seen such sights since the orcs’ days on the Homelands, where they had the decency to at least have the warlocks drain the younglings of their youth before they were sent off with barely any training into the fight.

He forced himself to return his attention to the matter at hand. A guard peered at him questioningly, willing enough to act as a guide through the structure. Kozgugore raised a dismissive hand, knowing his way through the metal structure by now as he had been summoned here to stand in front of tall-standing commanders before. Surely enough, he soon found himself standing in front of one of them, walking into a room guarded by two Kor’kron on either side of the entrance. General Spinecleaver stood in front of a map, that of Pandaria, when he after a moment of silence bothered to look up to his visitor. ‘Ah, Feraleye,’ the General said as he cocked his head into Kozgugore’s direction. ‘I have awaited your arrival. I take it the campaign in the Jade Forest is a success, then?’

Kozgugore nodded as he greeted the general with a quick salute, thumping a fist to his  chest. ‘Indeed. It would seem the Alliance have been cut off from their supplies – for the time being.’

A wicked smirk curled itself around General Spinecleaver’s tusks, running his hand over the part of the map that was marked as the Jade Forest. ‘Most excellent. Though it would seem no thanks to you now, would it? Orgrimmar has received word of these “terms” you have agreed upon with the Alliance. You realise these terms are not sanctioned by the Warchief himself? They are meaningless.’

‘I realise,’ Kozgugore slightly inclined his head. ‘I did not expect anyone aside from myself to follow them. They serve only for my own command. So that the people of Pandaria may be spared at least some of the war’s atrocities.’

Upon hearing the Chieftain’s words, Spinecleaver threw his head back in a boisterous laugh, smacking a hand on the wooden table in his amusement. ‘Ha! You were always rather foolish for a so-called chieftain, Feraleye! Makes me wonder how an orc so naïve as yourself ended up to become one.’ Still smirking to himself, the General stepped around his table, carrying a missive that he held out to Kozgugore to accept. ‘Still, you get the job done – so far. Here are your next orders, Feraleye. Straight from Orgrimmar. I’m sure you’re going to love this one.’

Kozgugore accepted the missive, and as he began to read its contents, he could faintly hear the General yammer on about duties and responsibilities. About what had to be done to achieve total victory on behalf of the Warchief and his glorious conquest. When the speech was at last done and Kozgugore had finished reading the signed letter, he raised his gaze back to the General, who was now back at his table again, and leant back against it as he awaited Kozgugore’s response.

‘I will not carry out these orders.’

There was something about the General’s demeanour that indicated he was not all too surprised by the Chieftain’s response. Nonetheless, the response was an unsatisfactory one no matter how predictable it may have seemed. ‘You what? You will carry out exactly as Orgrimmar tells you to, old dog. Or have you forgotten whose orders you’re following?’

Kozgugore crumpled up the missive, sending it flying to the General’s feet as his nose wrinkled on top of a fanged snarl. ‘I refuse. I will not lead my orcs into a neutral Pandaren village to burn it down on the vague notion that it -may- help the Alliance out in the future.’ He raised an accusing hand, pointing it into the General’s direction. ‘You know the contents of that letter go against everything I have agreed upon in the treaty. It goes against everything our noble race be standing for. And this be certainly not the first time that mistake be made either.’

The General’s yellowed teeth revealed themselves as he returned the snarl, a growl building up from the back of his throat as he barked back to Kozgugore. ‘That "treaty" of yours was a farce, and I doubt you know any better whatever may be in the best interest of our race than our Warchief does! You will either carry out the Warchief’s will, or you will suffer the consequences!’

‘No,’ Kozgugore grunted back as he raised his chin. He now realised these orders were particularly assigned to him in order to dissuade him from the agreements he has made – to prove himself in Orgrimmar’s eyes once more. But it was too late to take any steps back now. ‘We orcs be better than this. If this be what we be to become, I will have no part in it. And I will no longer command. Not in the name of this Horde.’

Finally, Spinecleaver pushed himself off his table, raising a hand to motion to both Kor’kron by the entrance of the room. ‘You’ve grown weak and predictable, Feraleye. I knew you were a fool, but to think you would stoop so low? You surprise even me.’ The Kor’kron, now motioned next to Kozgugore, both take him by the arms, pulling them behind him as he’s made to get down on his knees. ‘What you’re speaking of is treason. And you know the price for treason, is death. Get this sanctimonious fool out of my sight. He can rot in the prisons until his judgement comes to claim his head.’ The General waved his hand, motioning for the two Kor’kron to take him away

It was with a thick snarl, still trying to fight against the Kor’krons’ grasp in vain, that Kozgugore Feraleye was hauled off to Orgrimmar’s prison. Once a long-serving scout, and later a leader of armies, the orc was now stripped of his belongings and any rank as he was thrown into a dark jail in Orgrimmar’s bowels, bitterness overtaking him as it would seem this marked the end of his career. No grand ceremony in honour of any lifelong service, but left in the company of rats as he was to await his execution. So ends the Feraleye’s service to the Horde.

57

Game Related / A notice on the use of Red-Orc

« on: December 14, 2012, 01:45:47 AM »

I'm making this post as a reminder to those of you who are making use of the OOC channel of Red-Orc (with a line in between due to the filter to prevent OOCers from finding out about it, which makes it so that typing the name would result in "redorc" instead). Some of it should be pretty obvious, but I've received a few notices stating that it's regrettably necessary nonetheless.

When making use of the OOC channel, please keep in mind you're still dealing with other, fellow players instead of made-up RP characters. It's a rule in this guild to have fun, but it is also a rule to show respect to each other. Therefore, I'd like to call upon everyone using Red-Orc to show that very same respect to each other, and to correct one another's behaviour should you see anything that you feel might be out of line.

What exactly might be out of line you ask? Well first and foremost, if there's one thing I'm allergic to (and that I feel this guild is very good at keeping at bay, if I may say so myself), it's OOC drama. That includes any kind of OOC arguments or fights that are fought on Red-Orc every now and then. I don't expect you to be able to get along with every single other person, but if you do have some kind of beef with one another or some kind of offensive remark is made, try to talk it out like normal people or, if things are too complicated for that, stay out of each other's ways. Anyone who still chooses to be a downright troublemaker after that is free to be kicked by whoever the channel admin may be at that time. That's the thing about Red-Orc: It's moderated by all of us. We can correct one another when we see something that's out of line, or when it seems like someone may be bullied. However! That doesn't mean you should start playing like some unruly judge either. Even moderating needs to be done in moderation.

While arguments and fights are the obvious offenders, I'd like to remind everyone that there's still people out there who don't take kindly to foul words or... distasteful conversations. People are quite free to talk about what they want, but try to keep it in moderation if it's not late at night yet or people are present who may not take kindly to the kind of conversations about details about what comes out of your rear-end after a dinner of beans.

Lastly, I'd like to request all active guild members to refrain from putting one another on the in-game /ignore, as this does not only complicate matters ICly, but OOCly as well. If you have any troubles with fellow members, don't hesitate to let an officer know about it. We don't want to be anyone's unwanted psychologist, but we still would like to keep anyone's playing time in WoW to turn sour.

Thanks for understanding, and have fun!

58

Odds & Ends / The Jade Serpent Convention

« on: December 11, 2012, 11:42:50 PM »

A letter hangs on the wall of the tavern in Honeydew Village, translated into orcish.

Laws of War
As Agreed Upon by the Jade Serpent Convention

TUESDAY, Dec. 11th. [29]

With respect to the decisions made by the Convention held between Stormwind, Orgrimmar, Ironforge, Darnassus, and the Shado-Pan, the following are now to be held in effect by all powers operating within the continent known as Pandaria.

CHAPTER I. Neutral Settlements and Citizens

I. Article 1.
The territory of neutral powers is inviolable and shall not be assailed nor occupied by belligerent forces.

I. ART. 2.
Belligerents may not move troops or convoys through neutral territories.

Exception exists when neutral territories maintain only passage through a region (IE Binan Village). In such cases, belligerents may equally move troops and convoys through the settlement, but may not stop nor dwell in the village for longer than a day.

I. ART. 3.
Belligerent combatant corps may not be formed on the territory of neutral powers, nor may they be trained upon the territory of neutral powers, nor may belligerent recruitment efforts be made upon the territory of neutral powers.

I. ART. 4.
A neutral power may not allow any of the above to occur on its territory. It is called upon to punish acts in violation of its neutrality. If it refuses to do so, it shall forfeit its state of neutrality.

I. ART. 5.
A neutral power may supply belligerent powers with supplies. This shall be under the condition that trade takes place outside of the territory of a neutral power.

This trade is to be conducted impartially. A neutral power may not permit trade with one belligerent while refusing trade with another.

I. ART. 6.
A neutral power that receives belligerent personnel is to intern them until such time as it can transfer them out of its territory.

I. ART. 7.
A neutral power may tend to wounded belligerent personnel until such a time as the wounded can be safely moved. The neutral power shall then transfer the wounded out of its territory.

The neutral power may also permit convoys of wounded personnel to travel through its territory, under the condition that no personnel or material of war is transported with the wounded.

I. ART. 8.
A neutral power must abide by the above impartially. If it commits to or otherwise shows favor to any belligerent force, it shall forfeit its state of neutrality.

I. ART. 9.
The fact of a neutral power resisting, even by force, attempts to violate its neutrality cannot be regarded as a hostile act.

CHAPTER II. Weapons of Mass Destruction

II. ART. 1.
All manner of siege weapons are permitted for use against valid military targets.

A valid military target is defined as:

a) A military base, vessel, or other installation
b) A factory, farm, road, or other support element supplying military operations

The territory of neutral powers, as well as non-combatant civilians of belligerent powers and civilian constructions of belligerent powers, are not valid military targets. A non-combatant civilian or civilian construction is defined as a civilian or civilian construction that in no way engages in nor supports combatant operations.

II. ART. 2.
No siege weapon, nor any other weapon of great physical destruction including the intentional lighting of fire or sewing of destructive chemicals, shall be used for the employment of “scorched earth” strategies.

II. ART. 3.
No alchemical weapons of mass destruction, including blight, plague, or any other corrosive force, shall be employed within the continent of Pandaria.

II. ART. 4.
No physical or magical weapons of mass destruction, including mana bombs, magical rituals of greatly destructive effect, or high-yield thermal or nuclear explosives, shall be employed within the continent of Pandaria.

II. ART. 5.
No armies of magic, including elementals, demons, undead, or sha, shall be employed within the continent of Pandaria.

An army of magic is defined as a force greater than one magical minion per magic-user.

Death Knights of the Ebon Blade and Forsaken of the Horde are not magical minions as defined by this article.

CHAPTER III. Prisoners of War

III. ART. 1.
Prisoners of war are not to be executed by the detaining power. They are to be detained until either ransomed back to their faction, or until the conclusion of war at which point they are to be released back to their faction.

III. ART. 2.
Prisoners of war may be used for hard labor within an internment camp for the duration of their detainment.

III. ART. 3.
Prisoners of war may be interrogated through coercive force, but no permanent physical or mental damage may be inflicted. Permanent damage includes limb removal, branding, mental conditioning, and any other such damage that cannot be undone through medical means.

The use of coercive force for the sole purpose of inflicting pain or punishment, rather than interrogation, is not permitted.

III. ART. 4.
All interrogations, especially those employing coercive force, are to be done in the presence of countersha personnel. Countersha personnel are individuals that have been trained in countersha techniques by the Shado-Pan.

Belligerents are free to select personnel as they see fit to send to the Shado-Pan for countersha training.

III. ART. 5.
Prisoners of war are to be treated humanely. They are to be given adequate food, medical care, and rest.

CHAPTER IV. Final Provisions

IV. ART. 1.
The above articles shall go into effect upon the ratification of this document by the following constituencies:

a)   Stormwind, additionally speaking on behalf of Tushui and Pearlfin
b)   Ironforge
c)   Darnassus
d)   Orgrimmar, additionally speaking on behalf of Houjin and Grookin Hill
e)   Shado-Pan, additionally speaking on behalf of the Peoples of Pandaria

The above articles shall only apply upon the continent of Pandaria unless otherwise agreed upon by the above constituencies.

IV. ART. 2.
It is the duty of the ratifying states to enforce these articles on their personnel. Failure to enforce these articles shall result in the removal of the constituency from their coverage.

IV. ART. 3.
Constituencies other than those listed are exempt from these articles.

59

Game Related / Important! Changes to the tribe structure!

« on: November 28, 2012, 12:38:41 AM »

Many of you were there, but no doubt there may be some questions or people who didn't manage to attend the meeting that announced several changes in the tribe's system and hierarchy. Here follows a list, kept simple for your reading enjoyment, with all the vital changes that you will want to know if you're a part of the tribe:

Applicants:
- From now on, every member of the tribe above the rank of New Blood is able to interview applicants (ICly). As soon as you believe the applicant is good enough to join our tribe after a bit of introductory RP, you're free to introduce the applicant to any elder (Rrosh-tul, Thur'ruk, Varog'Gor, High Blade, Chieftain) who will do the IC inviting and explain any IC or OOC rules to the applicant.
- The one doing the interview is recommended (so not required) to be the New Blood's tutor as well, should they wish to do so. This makes the process of finding a tutor a little smoother.

New Blood Training:
- The New Blood training process will be changing slightly. Tutors are still able to give tasks, but they will have to be tasks suited  to the orc and not aimed towards finding out basic or general info about the tribe (for more on this, see the next point). For every task completed, a Mark of the Red Blade will be handed out as a reward. Collect three of these marks, and you will have earned the privilege of presenting these to the Chieftain in order to receive your Oath of Blood!
- The more menial tasks, like finding out what each rank means, what the tribe means to every orc, etc., will be taken care of on New Blood Trainings. These will hopefully be held more regularly, and can be hosted by any orc above the rank of New Blood at their own leisure.
- Marks of the Red Blade can be given either by tutor or officer when performing an admirable task during events or the like as well. Of course, only one should be given per feat or performance, so make sure not to have both give one for the same performance!
- The Marks of the Red Blade will be custom-made, and are basically a specific bone with the tribe's insignia carved into it. Fakes should be able to be recognized this way, and any orcs found cheating with their share of marks, will instantly be demoted, if not exiled altogether. If you're a tutor, you're free to just RP having these in your possession for whenever you may need one.

Ranks:
- An honorary rank by the name of "Alpha" has been introduced. These apply to the ranks of Nag'Ogar and Gosh'kar so far, though can be expanded to any other of the higher ranks if we see anyone deserving of it. The Alpha is basically an example to the rest of the corresponding rank, and can be considered the first in line of that rank (so the Nag'Ogar Alpha would be underneath the Rrosh-tul, but above the Nag'Ogar). At some times, the Alpha title can be considered as a stepping stone to another, higher rank as well.
- A new rank will be introduced soon. Keep an eye out!

For additional information on the Marks of the Red Blade, see the updated Red Blade Ranks topic.

60

Event Planning / Kosh'harg Festival

« on: September 14, 2012, 03:21:52 AM »

Brother and sisters of the Horde,

For some orcs, tradition is not a thing that comes natural to them. For others, it is something that is a part of their daily life. A part of who they are. One way or another, we all are confronted by the history of our people in more than one way from the moment we wake at dawn to the moment we go back to our furs to rest for the next.

On the coming twenty-third day of the ninth month, it is time once more that we pay our respects to our ancestors and to these traditions. The Kosh’harg Festival used to be an opportunity for the clans of old to gather around the mountain of Oshu’gun in the Land of the Wind to bury their arms and join around the fire with one another as brothers and sisters. A time that orcs could remember who they were, and what future lies ahead of them.

Now, a war heralds once more. Because of the Warchief’s decree, we will not find ourselves in our holy lands to celebrate this ancient tradition. However, this will not keep us from exactly that which the Kosh’harg offers us. We may not be able to attend Oshu’gun and its Kosh’harg Festival ourselves, but we can without a shred of a doubt bring the Kosh’harg to our new homelands. In the Valley of Trials of Durotar, where many an orc begin their first steps within the New Horde, we will celebrate the Kosh’harg in a manner that is only befitting a tradition of its own value.

We hereby invite any orcs of the Horde and whoever deems themselves a friend to join us in our celebrations. Bring wares, drink, food, tales and your best behaviour. Weapons may be left behind, for there will be no room for violence on a sacred festival such as this. This is only befitting a Horde of its own stature, before we ride off at the beating drums of war.

Kozgugore Feraleye,
Chieftain of the Red Blade tribe


And now for the OOC part of it all!

The Kosh’harg Festival is a twice-annually reoccurring event, offering a chance for all orcs to gather together for some good, old-fashioned orc RP. As of late, we have also extended our invitations to anyone who considers themselves of friendly allegiance with the orcish race, just so long as they respect the traditions of their hosts and leave violence at the door.

Though the Kosh’harg is  very much an open-for-all event, offering a chance to gather around fires for stories or any other (idle) talk, to sell things in a small market and to simply meet up with old friends, there will no doubt be room for small intermezzos as well. I would like to invite anyone to bring whatever services, games, stories, speeches or whatever they would like to share to the festival. If you would like to reserve a special moment for it in our schedule (found below), you’re certainly free to let me know by any means most suitable to you. Other than the schedule, the festivals will constantly go on without pause, so feel free to do or bring whatever you please through any of it!

Current festival schedule:
20:30 – 21:00: Gathering at the Valley of Trials.
21:00 – 21:20: Opening speech and blessing from the spirits.